


Feel The New Ink, Enter Our Lives

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [16]
Category: Duran Duran
Genre: A/B/O verse, Alternate Universe, Band Fic, Barbie’s all grown up!, Best Friends, Birthdays, Body Image, Canon nods, F/M, Family Fluff, Family Reunions, Flashbacks, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Growing Up, Innuendo, Live Aid, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Moving On, Nakedness, Other, Patrick Nagel, Reunion, Sex nods, Soulmates, Spoilers, Tattoos and Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: She may be eighteen, the whole world at her feet, though she’ll always be Mummy’s little rockstar. There’s no other way John would have it, they’re Taylor made for each other. Or, the happy ending this series deserves.Set during the reunion era, 2003.
Relationships: John Taylor (Duran Duran)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573288
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With the 35th Anniversary of Live Aid vastly approaching, I’d had it in my head for a while now: just where could Baby Barbarella and JT be?
> 
> Although technically today, in my alternate Duran universe, is her 35th Birthday (holy fuck) I decided to not head straight to Paper Gods and focus on Astronaut. I have a tonne of fic things to work out first.  
>  _I hope you enjoy this FUTURE FIC, with all the mummy John content we never knew we needed. 😘💖_  
> 

_Monday July 14th, 2003_

_Los Angeles_

  
“Are you sure you want to do this? No rain to hold back, now!”

Rolling his eyes, he snuck up behind her and enveloped her in his long and painfully bare arms.

“Yes, you know I’m gonna do this already!” He blurted, they were both practically trembling in each other’s grip from the excitement.

“Thank fuck you’re not getting anyone’s name on your arse, Tigger, that would be… you know.”

“ _Catastrophic?_ ”

“Indeed.” She giggled, batting her Mother’s hands from her tiny waist.

Instead, she whirled around, wrapping herself around his lean frame. Planting a kiss on his cheek, he chuckled, wanting to keep her close. Though sadly, she would need her precious body back at some point, so he pulled away. Eyes raking all over her, the marvellous, exceptional young lady she had become; he couldn’t help but shed a tear.

“Really, crying _again?!_ ” She laughed, a slight cockney twinge, she would always taunt him for these ever so in character moments. He giggled, wiping the happiness as it trailed down his cheek.

Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him and he followed suit.

Taking her small, soft and manicured hand in his own; they were face to face with the door. Chancing a glance sideways, he could see that she was practically bouncing. There was a distant whir, a low buzz, that was drawing them both in. A soft smell of sterilisation, if he could even call it that.

“You know you can back out, they won’t think any less of you.” She winked, sticking her tongue out again.

He caught sight of her snake bites, those super secret piercing still bought on a chill sometimes when he was face to face with them. Though secretly, these piercings were his favourite of her whole fashion forward bunch.

“C’mon Mum! We haven’t got all day!”

She was already inside, hanging off of the open door.

“Alright, alright Barbie! Keep your stupidly tight shirt on!”

He motioned to her strappy vest that clung beautifully to her small breasts and slim chest. He caught sight of the little bedazzaled logo, every young woman seemed to be wearing that _Juicy_ crap these days. Thankfully, although it made both he and her Auntie Gela laugh (juxtaposing the woman’s death stare) Barbarella wasn’t a fan of having _Juicy_ branded all over her velvet clad ass.

Though she definitely rocked that old classic shirt of his. The iconic ‘man’s a millionaire, man owns exactly one shirt’ shirt: the leopard print one from 1986. Granted, over the years, he had had quite the collection of that specific shirt. Era by era.

The savoured leopard print shirt was tied loosely around her middle, shoulder pads and all, highlighting her tall and elegant frame. She loved diving into his old wardrobe, giving life to the clothes he really thought were old and should be retired.

He could recall how as a baby, she would ram her teeny precious head into those exact shoulder pads and drool all over them. His lips quirked upwards at the anything but careless memory, into a small smile.

“See anything you like _Tigger_ , speak up!” Barbarella pouted, sucking in her cheeks, a direct carbon copy of her Mother from his _Smash Hits_ cover boy days. He sniggered at the perverse notion in that. “It wouldn’t be anything new now, would it Johnny?”

“Barbarella Diana Taylor Le Bon, _watch_ it!” John cackled, yanking her in even tighter. “Where’s the respect?!”

Then, softer. “What is it about this shirt, Mum? You get all, I don’t know, emotional over this and a couple of your _Power Station_ shirts I wear. Why?”

John sighed. He fixed his gaze on her long, flowing auburn hair, darkened eyes and beaming ruby smile.

“Sometimes, you really do remind me of… you remember your Auntie Renée, right? The Danish supermodel, Renée Simonsen?”

There was a moment, Barbarella nodding enthusiastically. “ _Ford’s_ Face Of The Eighties _._ ”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“The one you fished out of a magazine? Stalked her agency for a couple of years only to treat her like shit in a bar?”

John’s face fell slightly.  
  


Then, a change of tone. “You really _loved_ her, didn’t you?” Her voice was small, wistful. “It’s a shame whatever partnership you had didn’t last.”

John’s smile could’ve split his face in two. How could either of them ever forget her? Her beauty, her presence. The real impact she had on John in the very early days of Barbarella’s life…

Finally, they both slipped inside. The change in heat was quite something, hitting him like how she once hit him over the head with his own bass at about eight.

Together they no longer were frying in the Los Angeles sun, that ruthlessly beat down upon them. It had taken them both a few good years to really get used to the painfully dry and painfully scorching summer’s LA managed to conjure up for them; though much like her Mother, Barbarella had always been partial to letting off some steam in the summer sun.

They checked in, hand in hand, not bothering about the weird looks they may or may not have gotten. – _“Yeah yeah, he gave birth to me. Deal with it, dickhead!” Wow, nice one baby!_ \- They didn’t care, they never had. Joined to the hip: the original track and the remixed version, as it were.

Being bought back down to planet Earth, John couldn’t lie to himself: he was a little nervous. Though he knew, clutching Barbarella’s hand tight, running over the familiar cluster of rings, she was all for it. How could anything go wrong? When had she ever steered him wrong before? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been after one himself since he was her age, or through the height of his stardom.

Back then he had been scared of needles. Back then he had been scared of what could go wrong, how they were done and keeping to a single design for the rest of his life so he had deprived himself of the body modification. He had never been that promising, with commitment, though things were different now. He wanted this and so did she, craved it more than anything.

So, to hell with it. Why not?

Thankfully, the quality, the cleanliness of these things were much more trustworthy nowadays. The industry itself had really come an incredible way through the turn of the century: John knew he was happy with himself for having waited.

Together they took a seat, John marvelled over the décor. The walls were covered in dizzying pattern work, impressive designs and endless ideas. There was a luxe feel about the joint, sleek white counter tops and leather chairs, very clean and pristine. Together both Taylors had checked out a couple studios, though Barbarella’s mate from a nearby college had recommended this place. A single consultation and they had vibed just right, the ‘destination’ was no longer so unknown.

“Did Uncle Warren ever have any? He must have, right?”

“Hmm?” They locked eyes, Barbarella’s gaze catching her Mother’s over the tip of her _Vogue Deutsch_ magazine. “I don’t think so, though I always figured he would’ve rocked ‘em.”

“Yeah Mum, you’re right. Waz and all those muscles, you still drool… yeah.”

Chuckling, John began picturing those muscles, frozen as though it was _Liberty_ era all over again, that one photoshoot with Warren splayed out all over him in front of a white screen…

“Mum?”

When he had finally realised, Warren was the eye candy now.

“This is _Planet Earth?_ John, calling _Planet Earth!_ ” She waved, singing perfectly in time.

Coughing, having been caught and he surely had a blush forming atop his cheeks, John ground out: “you know we really should check in on him and his daughter some day.”

“You know _you_ should really check in on his restaurant someday!” She mocked, eyes narrowing and they could both sense the awkwardness. “The food is damn fine, if you ask me.”

John nodded in agreement.

“Uncle Ands does though. A Phoenix on his right arm, if memory serves me.”

“Uncle Nick won’t think of us as a couple of heathens for marring our perfectly perfect bodies?”

“Nicky, the _vampire?_ ” John scoffed. _“_ No way. You come to me if he says something, or his bitch… which one is it now?”

“Meredith, probably.”

“I can’t keep up. How tables turn, huh?” John chuckled to himself.

Another couple of minutes of leafing through the magazine, Barbarella now snuggled up to his side, then they caught wind of a slightly nasal voice from their left.

“John and Barbie? I’m Storm, I’ll be your artist today.”

Looking up, they regarded the tattooist and her shining eyes, a positive spirit. Her hair was raven black, with cobalt dyed ends that flowed merrily down her back. She was dressed in near all black, a short skirt which highlighted her long and lean legs. John’s eyes continued to roam her figure, from her blinding smile and the metal literally _in_ her face.

Barbarella, one step ahead as always, chipped in. “Sorry, he’s always been a perv. You should see the looks he gives my girlfriends!”

Jaw dropping slightly, John whipped his head around so fast he could’ve sworn he heard a crack. “Barbie!”

Her laugh was beautiful, flowing through the small space between them.

“It’s true though, isn’t it, JT.”

Sniggering, John shot back: “keep that up and you can pay for yours.”

“Sure, what a lovely _birthday_ present that would make. Which debit card was it again?” She motioned to his pocket, with a smirk.

Laughing along, “can I get either of ya’ll a drink before we get started?”

They shared a glance.

“You’re allowed to serve alcohol at eleven AM on a Monday mornin’?” John posed, Barbarella sniggering lightly behind him.

Storm laughed again, “‘Fraid not, I was thinking more like tea or coffee.”

“Ah. Shame. I think we’re good, right?” Barbarella nodded.

“Could use the bathroom though, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, Barbie, it’s right down the hall and to the left.”

Barbarella upped, John watched her trim figure slip from his sight. He heard another little laugh, turning back to Storm who had grown… _sheepish?_ Sheepish, before him.

“I know you get this sorta shit all the time and it’s _LA_ and all but erm,” she fiddled with her bag, “could you sign this? Huge fan, tryin’ not to freak out.”

She brandished an old, remarkably well kept poster of him. There John was, in a delightful cream suit and bright blue shirt, with some gaudy studded belt, posing by a window. Hamming it up by said window. He smiled as Storm handed him a _Sharpie_. “Solid gold.”

“Oh my God, what’s this?” He blushed, furrowing his brows and exposing those new lines, ever so slightly.

“Mom once had you guys all over her walls, I was diggin’ through her old records and, turns out, seven year old me really liked _Seven And The Ragged Tiger_. Not that I had a clue what it was about—”

“—Believe me, none of us do.” John snorted, it was still true.

“Next thing I know, I heard your first album and I got myself hooked!” She flushed, biting her ruby bottom lip.

Smiling, even brighter, John handed the poster back to her. “You know, I had just found out about Barbie when I did that photoshoot.”

“Really?” Storm’s hypnotic green gaze softened, John knew her eyes were following his hands as he signed his name.

Nodding, “yeah. The make up woman, Rose I think her name was, was actually preggers too. About eight months, she looked about ready to burst and shouldn’ta been on her feet trying to make me look good!” He recalled, giggling. “She was really puzzled as to why I kept askin’, how she was feeling and all that, dealin’ with the pain… then I told her. I still don’t know why I did that but uh, yeah.” He paused, as those familiar light taps on the tile floor came strutting back over.

Lowering his voice, Barbarella in his sights,“if I remember right Storm, I told her before any of my band mates. Shush!”

Storm winked, rolling up the poster.

“Are you both ready for some ink, then? She cackled, both Taylors nodded enthusiastically. “Alrighty, follow me.”

***  
  


John was first to brave the needle. Stripping himself of his tank top, laughing somewhat maniacally over the face Barbarella made at having a face full of his chest hair - _save it for Dad! Oh grow up!_ \- he laid himself down atop the chair.

“Draw me like one of your _Nagel_ girls, indeed.” John’s ears pricked up, he was howling over how perfectly timed his daughter’s joke was. Then, he posed, letting her revel in the sight of him. Choking, on his own laughter.

Steadying himself, he clung to Storm’s smooth voice as she talked him through it. Shaved and cleansed the area, his rib cage, and applied the stencil. John was handed a small mirror, checking out the idea. He was thoroughly mesmerised by how the tattooist has managed to bring said idea to life, ready to mould it to his creamy skin.

As always, as though she was happily clapping away to the album she chose on her play mat barely aged one, John asked for his daughter’s opinion and she was ready to give it.

“Beautiful. And mine’ll be the same, only with the watercolour.” She confirmed, smiling her full on _cheeky cheeky_ Nigel smile down at John.

“Are we ready to go then, John?”

Gaze fleeting to the heat in Barbarella’s eyes, together they grinned - _a real Charley grin, full of suggestion that was –_ before she broke away first so John could shift, getting himself comfortable for the gruelling pain. He tried tirelessly to _not_ psych himself up over it.

“Just keep talkin’ to me,” Storm snapped on a latex glove, John winced at the sound. “Tell me you’re okay.”

John nodded, face half smushed into the leather chair. His icy blonde mish mash of streaky hair was falling into his eyes, half painting the seat. He knew why she was warning him, the ribs were an incredibly painful place to tattoo and not at all the place for a beginner to aim for. Also, well, it wasn’t like he had much weight on him anyways. He would be feeling it.

“So, you’re touring again now? The _Fab Five_ , again? About freaking time, if you ask me.”

Groaning, the needle made contact. John hissed, grinding his cheek deeper into the chair and was determined to swallow his moans.

“Y-yeah, uh,” John winced, “fucking _hell_ …”

The sound of the tattoo gun didn’t help. It was right by his ear, the dull whir from outside was amplified, deafening.

“Eighteen years was a hell of a long wait, you’re right Storm.” Barbarella nodded, soft sing-songy voice filling John’s ear instead of the tattoo gun’s roar.

Thankfully, Barbarella kept talking to him. Reassuring him, using her soft and self assured tone, back to clutching his hand. She was incredibly strong, tough and persistent: John was sure her willpower would get them both through their sitting.

Also Storm, the trooper, was more than content with John rambling on about _Sing Blue Silver_ this, _Get It On_ that. _Skin Trade_ this, _Big Live Thing_ that. Barbarella was too, though she occasionally slapped her Mother for delivering more than just too much information about the odd back stage shenanigan.

_Eh, she’s heard worse!_

An hour or so later, John had practically rambled himself hoarse: he was done. It hurt to sit up, the pains were shooting up his side now, though he didn’t touch. He didn’t want to see what ink brandished his skin until Barbarella’s was done. They would be side by side, sharing the mirror, for the big reveal.

“Are you okay?” Barbarella’s tone showed her obvious concern. “It must really—” her Mother’s hiss cut her off. “Hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy!” Barbarella rolled her opal eyes and refrained from smacking John’s bony shoulder.

She began to untie his leopard shirt, slowly peeling it away from her body to unveil her lightly tanned skin. John, courteous as _never_ , poorly averted his gaze.

“Don’t worry, I’m keeping the vest on!” She joked, lobbing the iconic leopard print shirt John’s way. “Unless…”

Giggling, “unless what young lady?”

“Uh, Storm wants to see more?”

John eyed the tattooist.  
  


“Actually Mum, she’ll need better access to my skin so…” she broke off, sniggering, “I _will_ be taking it off so you may want too—”

John was already up and turning around.

“— do that. Okay.”

“Do you even have a bra on under there?”

“Who wears those male-imposed _shackles_ these days?”

Smirking, “of course you don’t, noodlehead.”

“Told you he was perverted.” John couldn’t help but chuckle, still feeling her heat at his back.

There was a shuffle with which he was sure meant the rearrangement of his daughter and her clothes; then John span around to see her laying on her side, shirt covering her breasts. Within moments he was by her side, holding her hand as she had his; walking through the tattoo.

Her skin was cleaned, shaved, needles were sterilised and colours were chosen.

“Drawn like a _Nagel_ girl, indeed.” John winked.

Like her Mother did, Barbarella checked the design in the mirror. She was content with the placement, lining up alongside John’s ink on the left side of her rib cage. Her design curved a little more, cupping her breast and helping to frame it.

“Well, I kind of have been, remember?” Her voice was teasing, John’s gaze flung back open wide.

“You… you have?” Storm sounded somewhat astonished.

“Yeah, Patrick painted me Autumn ’85. My band surprised me with the painting that Christmas,” John stalled, grinning like a loon. “One of my, you know, pregnancy shots from Antigua. The yacht. So yeah, Barbie has somewhat been morphed into a, you know, _Nagel_ masterpiece.”

Barbarella flashed her best Charley smile, waggling her brows. The merry laughter of their tattooist flowed through the studio again, John wishing he had a photograph of the painting in his living room back in Wiltshire on hand.

Then, Storm got to work. She asked endlessly about Barbarella, what it was like having the once most sought out man on the planet as a Mother and then having the other once most sought out man on the planet as a Father. The _Duranmania_ and whatnot. She rambled on, a trait she really had the Taylor clan to blame for, not at all ashamed in being heard.

John pitched in, laughing and joking endlessly. Though, he didn’t let go of her hand once.

“… After all this, I still can’t believe she wants to study at a conservatoire in downtown _Birmingham?!_ Back _home_. My classically trained ballerina... Full circle bollocks, huh Storm? You know, typical.”

“Durans can’t dance for shit though the Duran _kids_ on the other hand…”

“You didn’t want to follow in your parents footsteps then, Barbie, with music and modelling?”

“Well,” she considered, John too rolling some words about on his tongue. “I have been in a handful of magazines. _Ok_ and _Hello,_ family bullshit that he,” John waved with a bullshit grin to match, “isn’t even going to acknowledge doing! Or read. I’ve done a few shoots with my Mum and Dad, plus his old mate Amanda. Modelling is fun, time to time, though not really for me I don’t think. I… I’d look _nowhere near_ as effortless as Yasmin on the catwalk.” She added, a tinge of sadness evident.  
  


“You definitely have the _height_ though!”

John kept quiet, sensing that she was on a roll. He was a little surprised she hadn’t wanted to be following in any of the supermodels footsteps though he wouldn’t discourage it if she someday changed her mind. However he could understand, the modelling gig was nothing like the world he had heavily thrust himself into during his Wild Boy days. Barbarella had her own life and ambitions now.

“My baby is stunning, who wouldn’t want to photograph her?” He couldn’t stop himself.

“Awww, gross.” John could tell by the wiggle of her shoulders that Barbarella was trying to not break into a stomach crunching cackle. “And musical theatre is a huge part of my university course anyway… and I _love_ performing live. Just dancing and singing, rather than looking lost with a guitar… My parents, _they_ are the stars. They’ve earned it. It’s still so surreal watching them on _MTV_ and _VH1_ …”

This tattoo took longer, Barbarella had a water colour design that could be hidden nicely under her endless leotards in shades of turquoise and chartreuse, bleeding into violet painting her slim chest.

“… I freakin’ _love_ finding old _Vogue, Grazia, Harper’s Bizzarre,_ you name it, glossy magazines with Yasmin and Renée in though: they’re incredibly gorgeous. The _real_ Rio girls, you know? Especially Renée, I know Mum keeps thoughts of her close to heart.”

John just smiled, clutching Barbarella’s dainty hand tighter.

“He sees so much of her in me at times.” She craned her neck, to John behind her. “Do you think she’d want to see us someday? Meet me, properly?”

For once, though it shocked John a little, she didn’t sound so strong willed. So unsure of herself, there was fear in her voice. Fear he didn’t like one bit.

“She’s _always_ known you, baby, no matter where in the world she may have been.” John answered, without second thought.

“Yeah but, now I can _thank_ her for all that she did. For the both of us.”

Swiping away the last of the lotion, Storm admiring her handiwork; John finally caught sight of the finished masterpiece. He couldn’t help it, he loved his daughter’s artwork already. He was so grateful that she was supportive of this, this idea and she wanted her dear old Bass God there with her for it.

“You should also thank Andy for deliverin’ you.”

“ _What?!_ ” Storm blurted.

_Well done._

John bit his lip, shaking his head before cracking a huge Nigel smile.

“Someday, someday you’ll understand… and then you can explain it to me, Barbie!”

_She’s heard the story countless times but uh, yeah… that’s still hard to wrap ones poor head around._

Now, for the infamous reveal.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing side by side, careful to watch the runaway ink; both Taylors turned to their right, letting their new inked up sides take to the spotlight.

“Oh my…”

“… Fucking Christ.”

Like mother, like daughter.

Both sets of beady brown eyes were wide, running over their new additions.

“ _This Baby Of Mine, Is A Killer_ , July 13th 1985.” John read out, darkened eyes tracing the fancy script. “It’s been precisely eighteen years and one day since I said that, as this place is shut Sunday, in front of the entire world.” His voice was soft, fond. “One _billion_ people. Thirteen satellites.”

He bit into his bottom lip, gaze running over Barbarella’s lightly abused skin again, tracing the swirling patterns and dainty colours that backed the precious script.

“You were incredible at _Live Aid_ , you know. Doesn’t matter about Dad and that _duff note heard around the world:_ however tremendous it was. That show was… I don’t even know how to describe it other than, Mum, _phenomenal_. What you all did…” Throwing her head back, she caught her Mother’s bright eyes. “ _Duran Duran_ and _Power Station_ , with me right there fighting to come out and cheer for you myself.”

John kissed her cheek, reeling her in nice and tight.

“It’ll never happen again, not in my lifetime.”

“Well,” John cracked a smile, “turns out, thank fuck, you _just_ missed it.”

Both Barbarella’s and Storm’s laughter synched up to that, two beautiful and rhythmical tones harmonising perfectly: in John’s ears, at least. The word had never really gotten out about precisely where and when Barbarella had been welcomed to planet Earth, bop-bopping her way straight into John’s heart. Although John was sure, the biggest music acts of the day right there, someone with a huge gob bigger than his shrieking own; must’ve heard the hoard of lads singing _Wild Boys_ and cheering him on through the delivery.

The Wild Boys part, the syncopation and the rhythm, was always a fun story. Especially when John had realised, around her first birthday, that the first time he had heard his beloved’s heart beat within him: _Wild Boys_ had just played on the radio. He could still hear the chuckles of his doctor and nurse to this day, vividly. Then, the final time Barbarella’s heart was beating within him: _Wild Boys_ was the track they really greeted her with.

_Way to go full circle, like it was planned, don’t you think?_

Her gritty voice, wincing slightly from the pain, bought John out of his daydream. “We should really watch those videos sometime. I’d love to see _The Reflex_.”

Perking up, gaze widening. “Oh, I’m not sure you would Barbie. You know Dad’s note and what it _did_ to me!”

_You remember, my water breaking and those bleeding contractions…_

“I’m not sitting through A View To A—”

_… Simon was wrecking my insides, per the norm._

“— And that’s enough of the sentimentality!” Storm’s chirpy laughter bought them both out of their daze. “That performance was, sorry John, truly terrible.”

“Yeah,” he hissed. “Yeah, it was. Barbie, if you saw it in full; you’d want to be disowned!”

Leading his daughter back to the chair, still giggling like the loons they both were, still averting his eyes, they were both wrapped up and now somewhat clothed.

“Round two, John?”

“What do you mean, ‘round two’… oh my god. You’re actually going to… Mum, no!” Barbarella’s eyes were blown wide, her parted lips and raised brows screamed her disbelief from the rooftops.

“Oh yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Mum, no.”

“Baby, _yes!_ ”

“Is this what I think it is?”

John nodded.

Barbarella did the Hail Mary Cross or whatever, smirking.

John was motioned back to the chair, baring his painfully bare arms. He had come up with this idea not too long ago, Barbarella may or may not have accidentally nurtured said idea and screw it: here they are. All they need is now.

Eyeing the stencil as it made contact with John’s skin, Barbarella posed: “Does Dad even know about this?”

Chuckling, he answered ever so cheekily, “nope!”

“Does Uncle Froggie?”

“Nope!”

“Uncle Ands?”

“Nope!”

“There isn’t a chance in hell you would’ve told Uncle Nick or Tatji so, uh… you keep this up and there may not even _be_ a damn reunion, Mum!”

_Sod ‘em,_ John thought. The ink was running hot under his skin, branding him, marking him for life.

“Do you still back me on this, The Power To My Station?”

Grinning, she loved when he called her that, “hell yeah I do.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell he was turning back now.  
  


***  
  


Another hour and a half, there they were admiring John’s latest edition. Inked straight across his upper right arm now lay a huge and insanely tacky D. Double Ds. Interlocking, tacky double Ds.

“Jesus Christ!” Barbarella was in hysterics, she couldn’t believe he had really gone through with this. “You really are dedicated to this band, aren’t you?!”

“Twenty three years and counting, my luv. Twenty _five_ for me and Nick.”

Not that she minded, of course. She was thinking of the fans, they were sure to love it. Perhaps he’d even start a craze with this truly deplorable, huge and grotesque, tattoo being flaunted in every Duranie’s face. The _Girl Panic!_ he was sure to cause, John still knew he had those powers.

It was her Dad, Simon, who’s face she really couldn’t wait to see…

“ _Not to be confused with Coco Chanel._ ” John insisted, admiring his artwork in the mirror.

Storm just shrugged, wrapping the tattoo up. She talked them through the aftercare, touch ups, to come back in if they think the artwork could be infected. John took note, already thinking that he would most certainly be back for more.

“Thank you so much,” Barbarella motioned to her, hugging her. “From the both of us!”

Bringing a sweat slick palm around her shoulder, John hunched slightly to rest his head atop of hers; freshly dyed icy blonde locks (that matched Simon so much it constantly made Barbarella gag) mingling with her auburn ringlets.

“You’re most welcome, I enjoyed it! Would you two like a moment before I—” Storm was cut off, eyes following John’s hand as they dove into his pocket.

“We wanted to thank you personally, not just with an extra tip.”

Out of nowhere, John brandished two shining silver pieces of paper. By the looks of it, Storm couldn’t quite make out what they were. Or by the tell tale sign of shock on her face, she was ready to flip a table, _Hungry Like The Wolf_ style, at any moment.

“If you’re not busy tomorrow night,” John gestured to the tickets, handing them over. “Duran at The Roxy, bring your mum.” He winked, Storm’s gaze widened.

“Are you... you… holy shit you, you must be _joking?!_ ”

“Oh, we insist!” Barbarella posed.

“I… wow, thank you _so_ much!”

“Don’t mention it.” John shot back his biggest front page worthy smile, reminiscing of countless _Smash Hits_ covers – he still couldn’t believe Duran themselves had outlasted the tabloid.

Flashing her another huge, dopey grin, John was certain he was thoroughly melting the tattooist from the inside.

  
***  
  


“You know we really don’t have to go there, I’d much prefer eating at home with Dad and the band.”

John waved her off, “nah, it’s your belated eighteenth birthday. I wanted to do this together, we can go for a meal and when we get back you can have all the drinks you want.”

“Are you sure?” She was hesitant, of course she was.

There was a responsibility, not just for Barbarella herself but for John too.

“Really Mum, it’s not that big of a deal.”

She had never been much of a drinker, even though the age was higher here than back in the UK. It just wasn’t appealing, any hard hitting alcohol really wasn’t craved in the slightest. John kept to the legal age restrictions to eighteen, like back home for breaking out the odd bottle with a fellow Duran in sight.

“Sure. You know it doesn’t bother me.” His smile was genuine, true. “Just don’t try and race Ands, it won’t work.”

Their smiles met, Nigel to Charley.

“Okay, white wine will do,” she giggled, “let’s get something to eat. Indian or Italian?”

Then, together, right on the beat: “ _Indian_.”

Hand in hand, both John and Barbarella bid the tattoo studio farewell, rounding the corner to his sleek noir _Aston Martin_. He still loved his classic Bond cars, that love would likely never fade. His eyes still lit up like a child at Christmas, unravelling record after record.

It didn’t matter how old Barbarella would become, how much more fiercely independent and successful she became. She was always Mummy’s little girl, chirping along happily to Mummy’s endless records. Fingering Mummy’s bangles, slamming her head into Mummy’s shoulder pads. Pulling on Mummy’s curls, playing with Mummy’s beloved cuddly lion.

They still had Leonard, neither Taylor could bear to see their fluffy companion go. He was washed, re-stitched, had a new beady eye sewn in place… aged perfectly.

“I should really tell you more often, Mum,” Barbarella began, cautious. “I’m still incredibly _proud_ of you. Almost ten years sober, that’s somethin’ to really, really be, you know, proud of. You’re an inspiration… still; all these years later.”

John felt the water levels rising. The emotions: they were on the hunt; after him.

“I finally have my _Mother_ back. We all do.”

The ‘we’ went unheard.

_Eighteen_ _years._

“Where _he_ , Nigel,” she giggled, “should be. With his band. All _five_ of you, too many Taylors to freakin’ count.”

They’re finally sharing the same stage again.

_Eighteen years._

He’d finally found Nigel again.

“I love you so damn much, Barbie.” It flowed so naturally, he would never tire of saying it. “The Power To My Station, baby.”

John watched her, beaming, glowing. Luring him in with her spark, that flame that had never dulled from her birth right up till now.

“I know,” Barbarella kissed his cheek, hugging him tight, “I love you too, so much, Mum.”

She was his love, his drug. His Rio. She will forever be his dream girl, shining, showing him all she can.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you have it! What an ending. And John got his stupid DD tat, too!
> 
> _Happy Live Aid Day!! The iconic duff note is thirty five, fucking hell. 🤟🏼_  
> 


End file.
